This week, the eleventh graders in our school went to a village school in one of the cities in Turkey. We had the opportunity to improve the conditions of their schools and at least scoop them out of their ordinary, boring lives if only just for two days and help them have the best time of their lives so far.
The experience cannot be shaped into mere words and sentences; it was too different and extraordinary to be reflected truly by letters put together in coherent structures. But I'll do my best.
I know that spending time with fifteen kids and having them do artwork or painting their school or setting up a library in just one elementary school in one village in one city in Turkey in the whole world may not seem as much. It seems that there is much, much more we can do, and that is true. When I reflect back to the time of the day we saw the kids run off to their houses at the end of our last day there, carrying their brilliant pieces of art in their hands and decorated by the jewelry they made for themselves, to return back to what they used to do the very next day, some next to his/her parents to work in the farm, some at home to do the work, and some, actually a minority, coming to a school seeming so empty without us there again the next day; there was so much more that we could do. I thought that this was not enough.
Right then, a little girl who I spent a long time with during the activities came up to me and hugged me, with her incredibly beautiful masterpieces of art hanging around her neck, glimmering in the sunlight.
I remembered how every one of them listened intently when we were describing the new activity.
I remembered the boy in the front row getting the hang of the activity we were doing before we could, and enjoying himself so much that his joy was apparent from his deep, dark, shining eyes.
I remembered how they looked up and thanked me every time I helped them with something.
Then, it seemed like we had done everything we could have. I felt satisfied with the work that we did, because we made children happy. Yes, they may have to work in the fields the next day and those hands which so delicately beaded, drew and cut, may be used to tie knots or weed the garden, and get bruised, cut, and harmed. Yes, the girl who wants to be a doctor when she grows up may be forced to marry a much older guy in the next 10 years and look after kids. But that fire of hope we saw in their eyes, that passion to learn and the happiness they had when they were showered with affection and attention, will never go out. The hands of the incredibly talented boy may be bruised and his fingers may be damaged, the girl who wanted to become a singer may lose her voice from yelling at the sheep to keep them together, but their will to learn can never be broken. And seeing this and at least having a part in shaping their lives and strengthening their wills, showing them what they could do, what lies beyond the valley in which their own little village was settled in, was more than enough to be satisfied with what we had done. They are the little, lost kids of our country with giant hopes and even bigger hearts, who are waiting to be found by people like us.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Sunday, June 9, 2013
The Secret Superheroes
As we entered Kuğulu Park, one of Ankara's oldest parks and the place where all our generation spent their weekend as small, reckless children throwing food at the beautiful swans from our illustrated fairy tale books and the pigeons, which we had mixed feelings about, the clouds gathered up, up, in the sky, and the first drops of rain began to fall onto the cheerful "protesters".
On the eighth day of the protests, the people were happy as they could ever be, the students singing songs, holding up signs. Not a patch of green was visible on the slopes of Kuğulu Park.
My sanctuary as a child was now the home of many sharing the same ideals and same thoughts, although they were all drastically different.
Some wore their teams' colors.
Some carried slogans stating that people of their religion were standing with everyone else, then, and there.
And some just sat there, with V for Vendetta masks hung around their necks, beer in their hands, holding slogans painted onto paper that I could never have thought of, chatting, waiting. The secret superheroes of this whole resistance; every one of them being Clark Kent's in the day time, taking their exams, going to seminars, attending their lectures, but transforming into superheroes that Turkey needed in the night, with their nerves and stubbornness of steel. They were waiting for it all to begin.
Waiting.
We pushed through the crowd which was now looking for an indoor place because of the rain which decided to come down a little harder. As we walked down Tunalı, the street which Kuğulu Park is located at the end of, we saw them.
They were walking up, towards Kuğulu Park, with their flags, their horns, their whistles, their black and white shirts, their unity, their youth, their passion.
The fan club of one of the major teams in Turkey, Beşiktaş, had come over from Istanbul, hearing of the increasing use of excessive force against the protesters and of the growing protests, to support us. A crowd of nearly 3000 people was walking up to Kuğulu Park. And they were very much welcomed.
[caption id="attachment_426" align="alignright" width="187"]
Yes, those are people on the slope there.[/caption]
We went into a restaurant to dry off and eat something for the next thirty minutes. When we got out, all of the people who had gathered in Kuğulu Park had started walking down Tunalı. Destination: Kızılay, the very heart of all protests. We joined them, and walked with them. If under any other circumstance one needed 10000 people to yell out something in unison, or do something together, it couldn't have been done. But last night, everyone acted as if they were one. One for all, all for one was the idea hanging upon Tunali as the crowd marched forward.
Remember the people who were waiting in Kuğulu Park with their beers? They were walking at the front, leading the group, happy to finally belong somewhere.
And the people who were fine with coming out to their balconies and banging pots from there for the past few evenings were on the street too.
The secret superheroes had ripped open their clean dress shirts, and they were coming to the rescue.
Of course, when this enormous group reached Kızılay, the police stood waiting, and dispersed the group using tear gas and pressurized water. The group was physically dispersed, but every one was still together; one heart, one idea.
But that's not important. The groups being dispersed by the outraged police with anger management issues is kind of a given now. The important thing is to see that 10000 people walked to Kızılay with no prior organization, no leader, no commands given. Everyone was there because they wanted to, not because they followed the heads of the bodies of thought that they believed in, not because they were forced to be there by someone else, or something else.
They were there because they wanted to fight.
They were there because they simply could not resist sitting at home while the country was just waking up.
They were there because they wanted to and because they believed in their cause, every one for separate reasons. And when that is the case, everything else ceases to matter.
On the eighth day of the protests, the people were happy as they could ever be, the students singing songs, holding up signs. Not a patch of green was visible on the slopes of Kuğulu Park.
My sanctuary as a child was now the home of many sharing the same ideals and same thoughts, although they were all drastically different.
Some wore their teams' colors.
Some carried slogans stating that people of their religion were standing with everyone else, then, and there.
And some just sat there, with V for Vendetta masks hung around their necks, beer in their hands, holding slogans painted onto paper that I could never have thought of, chatting, waiting. The secret superheroes of this whole resistance; every one of them being Clark Kent's in the day time, taking their exams, going to seminars, attending their lectures, but transforming into superheroes that Turkey needed in the night, with their nerves and stubbornness of steel. They were waiting for it all to begin.
Waiting.
We pushed through the crowd which was now looking for an indoor place because of the rain which decided to come down a little harder. As we walked down Tunalı, the street which Kuğulu Park is located at the end of, we saw them.
They were walking up, towards Kuğulu Park, with their flags, their horns, their whistles, their black and white shirts, their unity, their youth, their passion.
The fan club of one of the major teams in Turkey, Beşiktaş, had come over from Istanbul, hearing of the increasing use of excessive force against the protesters and of the growing protests, to support us. A crowd of nearly 3000 people was walking up to Kuğulu Park. And they were very much welcomed.
[caption id="attachment_426" align="alignright" width="187"]
Yes, those are people on the slope there.[/caption]We went into a restaurant to dry off and eat something for the next thirty minutes. When we got out, all of the people who had gathered in Kuğulu Park had started walking down Tunalı. Destination: Kızılay, the very heart of all protests. We joined them, and walked with them. If under any other circumstance one needed 10000 people to yell out something in unison, or do something together, it couldn't have been done. But last night, everyone acted as if they were one. One for all, all for one was the idea hanging upon Tunali as the crowd marched forward.
Remember the people who were waiting in Kuğulu Park with their beers? They were walking at the front, leading the group, happy to finally belong somewhere.
And the people who were fine with coming out to their balconies and banging pots from there for the past few evenings were on the street too.
The secret superheroes had ripped open their clean dress shirts, and they were coming to the rescue.
Of course, when this enormous group reached Kızılay, the police stood waiting, and dispersed the group using tear gas and pressurized water. The group was physically dispersed, but every one was still together; one heart, one idea.
But that's not important. The groups being dispersed by the outraged police with anger management issues is kind of a given now. The important thing is to see that 10000 people walked to Kızılay with no prior organization, no leader, no commands given. Everyone was there because they wanted to, not because they followed the heads of the bodies of thought that they believed in, not because they were forced to be there by someone else, or something else.
They were there because they wanted to fight.
They were there because they simply could not resist sitting at home while the country was just waking up.
They were there because they wanted to and because they believed in their cause, every one for separate reasons. And when that is the case, everything else ceases to matter.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Change
"Change in all things is sweet." -Aristotle
Several months ago, I wrote a post about how language changes and I supported that change is always, always, good. I received many comments on if the change in language which in a way drags the language closer to extinction or assimilation with the usage of words from different languages is still classified as "good". Well, I say that change, no matter what it is, is always for the better because humans and what we think change every passing second.
Turkey has changed a lot in the span of six days. With one single excessive act of the police on protesters, the whole country has risen, and is still rising. The streets are different now. The streets I used to shop in, Kızılay, Tunalı Hilmi, some of the main shopping districts of Ankara, now have tear gas cans around the sidewalks and slogans splattered across the walls. That coffee shop I used to get ice cream from is now the most hated shop in the district, because it did not allow the protesters running away from the tear gas in. The square in Kızılay, a place I know inch by inch, every shop and every turnabout, is now drained of cars and traffic and is crowded with protesters. The name plate of the clothes shop I used to shop from is barely distinguishable behind the clouds of tear gas.
And perhaps today, one of the most interesting things happened. Our -and I'm afraid I have to say "our", because, in the end, he is the
PM of the country we live in even though he regards himself as the PM of only the people who voted for him- PM, a couple of days ago, referred to the protesters, the people searching for their rights and seeking what they deserve, as "looters". The Turkish; "çapulcu".
The sense of humor of the Turkish is quite different from other cultures. Right after the PM's speech just before he "flew (or fled, as you wish) off" to one of his trips, we embraced the word "çapulcu", and now, it has become a verb and a noun in English, at least on the World Wide Web and in our daily language. We use the word "chapulling" now all the time, because, we are "chapullers", as our PM says.
Our language has changed in one day, with one word fluttering out from between one person's lips. This change reflects the time and its people, as does any change. Years later, when I hear the word "çapulcu", I would be reminded of today and today's circumstances. I would notice how things have changed since today, hopefully, in the good way.
The Kızılay Square or Taksim Square will never be the same again. They will remain as popular tourist attractions and shopping districts, but they will never cease to be the place where thousands of "chapullers" stood up for their rights and fought. The word "çapulcu" will never mean the same thing that it meant seconds before the PM went off his carefully revised prompter speech. And this change, and the change that we will hopefully bring upon our country in the following days, will always help us move forward. We are proud to be, and will stay as, "chapullers"; one who searches and fights for his/her rights, no matter what they might say about us, or what the circumstances may be.
Several months ago, I wrote a post about how language changes and I supported that change is always, always, good. I received many comments on if the change in language which in a way drags the language closer to extinction or assimilation with the usage of words from different languages is still classified as "good". Well, I say that change, no matter what it is, is always for the better because humans and what we think change every passing second.
Turkey has changed a lot in the span of six days. With one single excessive act of the police on protesters, the whole country has risen, and is still rising. The streets are different now. The streets I used to shop in, Kızılay, Tunalı Hilmi, some of the main shopping districts of Ankara, now have tear gas cans around the sidewalks and slogans splattered across the walls. That coffee shop I used to get ice cream from is now the most hated shop in the district, because it did not allow the protesters running away from the tear gas in. The square in Kızılay, a place I know inch by inch, every shop and every turnabout, is now drained of cars and traffic and is crowded with protesters. The name plate of the clothes shop I used to shop from is barely distinguishable behind the clouds of tear gas.
And perhaps today, one of the most interesting things happened. Our -and I'm afraid I have to say "our", because, in the end, he is the
PM of the country we live in even though he regards himself as the PM of only the people who voted for him- PM, a couple of days ago, referred to the protesters, the people searching for their rights and seeking what they deserve, as "looters". The Turkish; "çapulcu".The sense of humor of the Turkish is quite different from other cultures. Right after the PM's speech just before he "flew (or fled, as you wish) off" to one of his trips, we embraced the word "çapulcu", and now, it has become a verb and a noun in English, at least on the World Wide Web and in our daily language. We use the word "chapulling" now all the time, because, we are "chapullers", as our PM says.
Our language has changed in one day, with one word fluttering out from between one person's lips. This change reflects the time and its people, as does any change. Years later, when I hear the word "çapulcu", I would be reminded of today and today's circumstances. I would notice how things have changed since today, hopefully, in the good way.
The Kızılay Square or Taksim Square will never be the same again. They will remain as popular tourist attractions and shopping districts, but they will never cease to be the place where thousands of "chapullers" stood up for their rights and fought. The word "çapulcu" will never mean the same thing that it meant seconds before the PM went off his carefully revised prompter speech. And this change, and the change that we will hopefully bring upon our country in the following days, will always help us move forward. We are proud to be, and will stay as, "chapullers"; one who searches and fights for his/her rights, no matter what they might say about us, or what the circumstances may be.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
OccupyGezi
"People shouldn't be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people."
When I watched V for Vendetta, read 1984, Fahrenheit 451, Brave New World for the first time a couple of years ago, it all seemed too far away. Regular people caught up in the webs of totalitarianism rebelling against them, and, win or lose.
But now it is close, right in front of my doorstep, the sounds of revolution, hate, love, and freedom echoing throughout Ankara, the country, the whole world.
It all started with a peaceful protest at Gezi Parkı, one of the last remaining green areas in the center of Istanbul, protesting the Turkish PM's decision to build a shopping mall there, cutting down all the trees. There was a sit-in for three days; the weather seemed to agree with the protesters, the sun shined endlessly, people brought their kids, sang songs, read books to each other. The happiness and the peace in the photos of the first few days of the protest are unmistakable.
But then it all went wrong.
The police attacked the sleeping protesters, doused them with tear gas at five o'clock in the morning. Set their tents on fire. This single action of them fired up the whole nation. It was no longer an issue of cutting down a couple of trees. It was now a rebellion against the totalitarian government who has been ruling us in increasing dictatorship for the last 10 years. It was the breaking point.
And ever since that "raid" on the dormant protesters in Gezi Parkı, people of all ages, races, social groups have been united against one, and have been on the streets. The police continues to use excessive force, but the public will simply not back down. The tear gas they are doused in has become "a must" for them, and the pressurized water, well, now, they embrace it with open arms. These will only make them stronger.
CNN, BBC only tell you about the politic side and the surface of everything. People who are not living in Turkey or have friends here do not see the posts of their friends who joined the protests, them saying that they miss the tear gas, that they are proud to carry their wounds, that they will not give up. An amazing wave of cooperation has spread throughout the Turkish Republic.
Similar to the incidence in Reyhanlı on the 12th of May, there is a ban on the press, and the TV channels cannot air anything regarding the protests. However, the Gezi Parkı media blockage differs from the Reyhanlı media blockage. In Gezi Parkı, there was no media blockage at first. While the incidences sprouted and spread nation-wide, before the PM/sultan banned the media, the news channels showed "Food Trips All Over Turkey" and documentaries about penguins. So the channels chose to ignore this act of their own people. They chose their own job security over broadcasting the truth, if they broadcast anything. And again, it backfired. The whole nation started watching a single news channel which was privately funded and did not have any connections to the government. They managed to unite the nation again, all the while trying to break us apart.
Last night, I sat in my bed, awake. There are currently two main centers of protest in Ankara, one of them being a kilometer west of my house, and the other being a kilometer east. I could hear the cars honking as they drove past the protest sites, or just any street. I could hear people on their balconies banging pots and spoons, whistling, trying to harmonize with the slogans and the cries of hate, love and rebellion coming from only a few kilometers away. The city was awake. So were the people.
Today, the protests continue. People continue to communicate through Facebook and Twitter, alerting each other of police groups marching their way or of restaurants or establishments which take in protesters promising them safety and help and then turn them over to the police. We are still on the streets, and we will not give up. No matter how much tear gas we will have to bathe in, no matter how many gallons of water we will get soaked in, we will unite under one ideal; doctors, lawyers, conservatives, communists, students, elders, Fenerbahçe, Galatasaray, Beşiktaş fans. And we will show those people who underestimated us that they should be afraid of us, and that with our hate we harvested against them for the past 10 years, with our love and dedication to the Turkish REPUBLIC, our lust for freedom, revolution running through our veins, and our will stronger than the ones opposing us, we will walk out of this our heads held high and our goals reached.
When I watched V for Vendetta, read 1984, Fahrenheit 451, Brave New World for the first time a couple of years ago, it all seemed too far away. Regular people caught up in the webs of totalitarianism rebelling against them, and, win or lose.
But now it is close, right in front of my doorstep, the sounds of revolution, hate, love, and freedom echoing throughout Ankara, the country, the whole world.
It all started with a peaceful protest at Gezi Parkı, one of the last remaining green areas in the center of Istanbul, protesting the Turkish PM's decision to build a shopping mall there, cutting down all the trees. There was a sit-in for three days; the weather seemed to agree with the protesters, the sun shined endlessly, people brought their kids, sang songs, read books to each other. The happiness and the peace in the photos of the first few days of the protest are unmistakable.
But then it all went wrong.
The police attacked the sleeping protesters, doused them with tear gas at five o'clock in the morning. Set their tents on fire. This single action of them fired up the whole nation. It was no longer an issue of cutting down a couple of trees. It was now a rebellion against the totalitarian government who has been ruling us in increasing dictatorship for the last 10 years. It was the breaking point.
And ever since that "raid" on the dormant protesters in Gezi Parkı, people of all ages, races, social groups have been united against one, and have been on the streets. The police continues to use excessive force, but the public will simply not back down. The tear gas they are doused in has become "a must" for them, and the pressurized water, well, now, they embrace it with open arms. These will only make them stronger.
CNN, BBC only tell you about the politic side and the surface of everything. People who are not living in Turkey or have friends here do not see the posts of their friends who joined the protests, them saying that they miss the tear gas, that they are proud to carry their wounds, that they will not give up. An amazing wave of cooperation has spread throughout the Turkish Republic.
Similar to the incidence in Reyhanlı on the 12th of May, there is a ban on the press, and the TV channels cannot air anything regarding the protests. However, the Gezi Parkı media blockage differs from the Reyhanlı media blockage. In Gezi Parkı, there was no media blockage at first. While the incidences sprouted and spread nation-wide, before the PM/sultan banned the media, the news channels showed "Food Trips All Over Turkey" and documentaries about penguins. So the channels chose to ignore this act of their own people. They chose their own job security over broadcasting the truth, if they broadcast anything. And again, it backfired. The whole nation started watching a single news channel which was privately funded and did not have any connections to the government. They managed to unite the nation again, all the while trying to break us apart.
Last night, I sat in my bed, awake. There are currently two main centers of protest in Ankara, one of them being a kilometer west of my house, and the other being a kilometer east. I could hear the cars honking as they drove past the protest sites, or just any street. I could hear people on their balconies banging pots and spoons, whistling, trying to harmonize with the slogans and the cries of hate, love and rebellion coming from only a few kilometers away. The city was awake. So were the people.
Today, the protests continue. People continue to communicate through Facebook and Twitter, alerting each other of police groups marching their way or of restaurants or establishments which take in protesters promising them safety and help and then turn them over to the police. We are still on the streets, and we will not give up. No matter how much tear gas we will have to bathe in, no matter how many gallons of water we will get soaked in, we will unite under one ideal; doctors, lawyers, conservatives, communists, students, elders, Fenerbahçe, Galatasaray, Beşiktaş fans. And we will show those people who underestimated us that they should be afraid of us, and that with our hate we harvested against them for the past 10 years, with our love and dedication to the Turkish REPUBLIC, our lust for freedom, revolution running through our veins, and our will stronger than the ones opposing us, we will walk out of this our heads held high and our goals reached.
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